


Like honey

by Morethancupcake



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Brain Damage, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Jealousy, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5179142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morethancupcake/pseuds/Morethancupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He used to be quick, but he doesn't really remember how it felt, he doesn't remember."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like honey

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever 00q story, please be kind. All the mistakes are mine, because a French trying not to sound American is just too ridiculous.
> 
> I stole Tiptoe from the very talented sarahnotduck. I hope she won't be too mad, because she knows how much I love her work. If you're into Phlint and into age play fics, please go read her amazing story. http://archiveofourown.org/works/4297104

Time is slow, like honey dripping from a muslin cloth.

He is slow too, this new house is quaint, peaceful. He watches the plants, outside, but he doesn't want to disturb them.

His thoughts used to be quick, to dance, but now everything seems still, barely moving until, inevitably, chaos.

He used to be quick, but he doesn't really remember how it felt, he doesn't remember.

 

James is here, always.

"You should leave." he says sometimes, when it becomes too heavy. "We'll be fine, without you. You can leave, James."

"We ?" His smile is soft, like ashes, like the hair on his temples. 

"Tiptoe and I. We'll be fine, you can leave us."

 

James holds Tiptoe in his hand, sometimes. He doesn't like it, but James always gives it back. Always. 

He naps holding Tiptoe close to his chest, his fingers caressing the soft fur inside his ears, his fingernails hitting the marble eyes of the bunny. One day, a long time ago, his nails used to click against the keyboard. 

He didn't like it.

 

James doesn't leave. He makes tea, and he holds him close. His lips are warm, and when they rest on the couch, his breath is tickling.

"Why are you doing this ?" he asks, and the broad hands hold his, make him feel small, but safe. Cared for. 

He likes it.

"Because that's what we do. We take care of each other."

"I take care of you." He doesn't know why he said it, but James smiles.

"Then it's my turn. My turn to take care of you."

 

James' kisses are slow, like honey.

 

The phone disturbs the peace they create, and James gets angry, he whispers in the garden, about not leaving him alone, ever. He remembers his office, and work. He remembers some people, and a porcelain dog. 

James smiles, and kisses his temple when he's back. The air smells like storm, and he leaves one window open, to smell the grass. 

 

"You leave us."

James watches him for the couch, warily. He's angry, he doesn't understand why he's so mad, suddenly. "You do that. You leave us, to be with other people. You kiss them. Tiptoe doesn't like it, when you do that. He hates you."

"I..." the deep voice cracks like a log in an open fire. "I didn't know."

"I hate you."

James' hands shake a little when they hold his hands, slowly getting him away from the window, and back with him, in the safety of his embrace.

"I'm not leaving. I'm not doing any of this. Ever."

"You promise ?" It takes a minute for James to answer, and he realises it's because of the tears on his cheeks, making it hard to breathe. James brushes them away, his fingers soft as silk.

"I promise. I didn't know how much Tiptoe would hate it. Hate me." James hugs him, one of these hugs the older man needs, sometimes. He buries his face into the heavy sweater, and his next words are muffled by the wool, and the tears he's trying to hide. "I don't want you to hate me."

 

One day he wakes up and goes to the shower, Tiptoe forgotten in the heavy covers. He makes them a pot of tea, and toasts. James is just back from his jog, and he's already on his laptop, logging in for the day.

"Ah, double oh seven, brilliant. We're in desperate need of butter, and more tea. Sugar too. I'll order everything. Have you seen my phone ?" James doesn't say a word, still at the small kitchen door. The cat brushes at his legs, and again. He's too silent. "Double oh seven ?"

"Q."

The rest is a little blurry, he wakes up fom a nap, and doesn't remember breakfast, and the tea. It's a little hard to breathe, until James puts Tiptoe in his arms. He sleeps again, James' hand on his head.

 

It keeps coming back, like the sea. Like the sea, it's unpredictable. One day he wakes up, and he's himself, again. Then he suddenly needs to sleep, and he's back to being... himself. It makes no sense.

"You must be going mad." he tells James. Is it wrong, for them to share a bed ? He isn't sure, he doesn't feel wrong. Right now he isn't the boy who watches the lavender dance, and James isn't the one who reads him to sleep. James is not as hard, his muscles a little softer. His scars aren't red and angry, everything looks soft, smooth. He kisses his heart, and the older man reaches or him and kisses his eyes. "James Bond, in the countryside, it's ridiculous."

"Is it ?" His voice is a rumble, it's the thunder before the storm. "I don't believe it is, actually. I like it here."

"I shouldn't make you stay here. Taking care of me, this is ridiculous." He puts his ear on James' heart. Outside, it's raining again, the trees dancing. 

"You should know no one can make me do anything, Q." The fingertips on his back are tracing his moles. He hates them. "Not even you."

He falls asleep. He doesn't want to. He fights it, everytime. He wants to be himself, he wants to stay himself. When he wakes up, James is reading, glasses perched on his nose, fingers to his lips. He smiles when they kiss. 

"What if I stay like this forever ?" James' doesn't smell like expensive cologne anymore. It's probably expensive still, but now he smells like fig tree, and the sun. Q breathes him in, the warmth and the laundry soap. The smell of sex, and that stupid organic lubricant they use. 

"Then we'll stay like this forever." 

Q wakes up again, and again. It takes almost a week for him to wake up and ask for tea, and Tiptoe.

James kisses his eyes, his hands framing his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you liked it enough, please leave kudos, and a comment ? Nice comments make my day.
> 
> You can find it (and me) on tumblr :
> 
> http://iwanttopizzamanyou.tumblr.com/post/132888987009/like-honey


End file.
